


Dodge

by aravenwood



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Pre-Game(s), dodgeball - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 10:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12188514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: Whoever invented dodgeball hated people, Prompto decides.ORPrompto gets hurt in a game of dodgeball and worries Noct.





	Dodge

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially a fluffy piece, then it was a really angsty one. Now it's middle of the road. Because it's dodgeball and you can't really get seriously hurt playing it, but I've never played a game of it where someone wasn't at least minorly injured (bloody nose, gut shot, minor concussions...). 
> 
> I hope you guys like it. I don't have access to the game right now so writing fic for it is a decent alternative.

Whoever invented dodgeball hated people, Prompto decides when Coach empties a bag of bright pink rubber balls onto the gym floor and demands that two students pick their teams. He stands in a line with the rest of the class, and Noct winks at him from the sidelines – he has a note from Iggy that says he doesn’t need to play, and Prompto has never hated him as much as he does right now. The students around him actually look bored at having to play this game, not like they’re freaking out internally like he is. Dodgeball is like a slightly less aggressive form of being shot at, and do the balls really need to be so painful? He has enough bruises from being his clumsy self without the strongest boys in the class adding more.

The two team captains seem to be fighting to make the stronger team, immediately going for the biggest, strongest boys and the girls who’ve proven to have the best aim. Smaller, skinnier, weaker students like him are left until the end. That’s just how it works. Everyone seems to forget that he’s actually got a decent aim, although his throwing arm isn’t the best. If he gets close enough, he can take half the team out without them suspecting a thing.

He’s picked last, and he’s alright with that until he catches a guy who’s pure muscle laughing at him. “One hit and he’s down for good!” the guy says loudly to the rest of his team, who join in on the laughing. He’s right, one ball thrown by that guy would likely kill a normal human being, but Prompto is hoping that the muscle he’s built up across his gut will make some kind of shield.

“Hands to the wall!” Coach orders as he lines the balls up along the middle of the court. He has this sort of evil spark in his eye, one that says he knows exactly how painful it is to get hit by one of those and he’s going to enjoy watching them all suffer. How he’s allowed to work with kids is beyond Prompto – the guy would fit in at a prison better than he does here. But his sadism means that people do as they’re told, and apparently that’s all it takes.

Out of the two teams, Prompto is the only one who isn’t readying to kill his classmates – he’s in the far corner with his back against the two walls, his hands already half-raised to protect his sensitives. The monster-student from before is still watching him, and he keeps sending pointed glances at one of the balls. Prompto wonders what kind of punishment this kid will get for killing him, or if there’ll be a punishment at all. If Coach has his sadistic, criminal way, no one will ever know about his death and the whole class will be sworn into some kind of blood pact that they’ll never tell anyone about the death that took place in a game of dodgeball gone right.

“Corner won’t save you. Nothing will save you,” says a slighty underweight boy with thick glasses and a twitch. He’s placed himself right behind another one of the monster-students so that anything that’s intended to hit him will hit his shield instead. It’s a smart idea, but Prompto can’t help but wonder how much he had to pay for that to happen, or if the monster-student even knows about it.

Coach puts an arm out, glances at each of the teams and pulls it back, and the players charge. The opposing monster-student shoves past several of his own teammates to reach one of the balls first, and as he picks it up, his eyes lock with Prompto. The blond shakes his head once, pleading for his life, but the ball is already sailing through the air right towards him. Out of sheer luck, Prompto ducks at just the right time and hears a horrible, loud smacking sound, and then a curse. He breathes a sigh of relief and the boy who’d spoken before grins at him. His shield reaches back and pushes his charge so he’s more protected. They must be friends, then. Unlikely friends, but friends nonetheless.

Another ball narrowly misses his head. Prompto nearly goes to his knees to escape the noise but doesn’t because the last thing he needs is to be an even easier target incapable of dodging. He glances around his hands, which he’s using to protect his face, and his nemesis is smirking and readying another throw. A ball flies from Prompto’s side and narrowly misses the student, who pauses to look offended.

“I bet you forgot there were other people,” Prompto mutters. Then the ball is flying.

He catches it. In his hands! He holds the ball between them and grins, taking a second to hold it over his head as a trophy and wave it at Noct, who’s applauding and looks genuinely proud. But the student who threw it doesn’t move to the side with everyone who’s been put out – he glares at Prompto, snatches a ball from the girl next to him and launches it. It happens too quickly for blocking to be possible.

It smacks hard into Prompto’s gut and he collapses to his knees with his arms around his waist, the ball he’s been holding rolling off into the middle of the court. He tries to breathe but all the air in his lungs is gone, knocked out from the force of the blow. “Help,” he tries to wheeze, but it comes out a little too quiet and goes unheard. He can’t breathe and he’s afraid he’ll never be able to breathe again. He’s panicking, he knows that, but he’s entitled to and it’s not like he can hyperventilate with no air in his lungs.

“Prompto!” Noct shouts and kneels at his side. The game has stopped and everyone is watching the two of them, even Coach who hasn’t thought to get help for an asphyxiating student. “Breathe, it’s ok, just breathe.”

“Can’t,” Prompto manages to wheeze and that’s when Coach comes running. His eyes filled with nothing but concern – no sadism for a change –, he kneels next to the two of them and touches Prompto’s shoulder.

“Up,” he says shortly and helps Prompto into a sitting position. “Give it a minute and it’ll be fine. You’re just winded, that’s all.”

That’s all. Prompto’s had times before where he’s been unable to breathe, but those times were totally brain-related and nothing to do with a physical condition, and he knows if it’s a mental thing that his breath will return eventually. There’s no such reassurance with an injury. He leans forwards onto his knees and it feels a little more comfortable, and if he’s going to die, he’s going to go comfortably.

Noctis squeezes his shoulder. The prince is breathing with purpose, as if he’s reminding Prompto what it’s like. It’s actually helping, too – as air slowly starts to fill his lungs, he copies the breaths from Noct. “Good,” Noct whispers and gives Coach a glance as if to check that it really is “good”. Coach offers him a quick smile and loops one arm under Prompto’s, and Noct does the same on the other side even though he probably won’t be able to support the added weight.

“Let’s sit out, kid,” Coach says, and he helps Prompto away from the court and into a small seating area near the gym hall. He turns to Noct and says, “Will you watch him? If he starts to struggle again, fetch the nurse. But he should be alright now.”

Noct nods and Coach smiles and leaves, the sadistic glint in his eyes there once more. When it’s just the two of them, Noct grabs Prompto in a hug that’s just loose enough that there’s no pressure on the blond’s sternum. “Don’t scare me like that again!” he scolds.

Prompto blinks lethargically. Not breathing is really exhausting, he realises now, and he wants nothing more than to go home and sleep. “Sorry,” he slurs, relaxing into the hold. Noct is really quite comfortable despite his bony shoulders, and his blazer is just soft enough to be a half-decent cushion.

He ignores the nudge meant to wake him up. He ignores the voice calling his name and telling him to at least wait until he gets home. He ignores that same voice talking to someone in a mutter. Out of nowhere he’s being picked up and carried away, and people around him are whispering but he doesn’t care.

The only thing he does pay attention to is the soft, accented voice in his ear. “Well, at least he didn’t throw up on you.”

Good, because Prompto is pretty sure that’s a crime against the throne.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I really hope you liked it!


End file.
